


there are no losers in this game

by Mishaa



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Disgusting levels of it, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Valentine's Day, author's love letter to miya atsumu, emotionally constipated boys get a laxative, featuring cameos from my other favourite assholes, sakuatsufluffweek2021, what's the sfw fluff version of a pwp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:33:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29460588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mishaa/pseuds/Mishaa
Summary: Atsumu laughs, the small and quiet one he uses when it’s just the both of them. “Nah, I like working for it. Yer worth the effort, Omi-omi. Or, it’s not really effort at all since I like doing it.”Kiyoomi nearly groans. Atsumu’s on a fucking roll and his heart is suffering for it. He might actually gag at this rate. He clenches his fist and stuffs it into his pockets to stop him from doing anything patently stupid.Atsumu turns around and continues walking. “Kinda like volleyball, y’know? Except I get paid for it in amazing dickings instead of cash.”It’s disgusting how his stomach’s still turning despite the filth coming out of his mouth. Kiyoomi’s so fucking in love with this asshole, it’s almost painful.“Why are you like this?”aka Kiyoomi's in love with him and is understandably upset about it.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 7
Kudos: 129
Collections: SakuAtsu Fluff Week 2021





	there are no losers in this game

Kiyoomi only realises it’s Valentine’s day when he passes by the common room on the way to the lockers and sees a pile of chocolates on the table. Mika-san from Marketing is there with her clipboard, speaking to the postman who has a bag full of pink letters and paper hearts.

He suppresses a groan and tries to slink past without her noticing, and winces when he hears her call out to him. “Sakusa-senshu! Have you seen Atsumu-kun? Did you come in together today?”

“No, but I’ll let him know you’re looking for him if I see him,” he replied, hurrying away.

“Let him know he’s in the lead this year!” he hears her say. He doesn’t know what that’s about, but doesn’t dwell on it too much because there were more pressing things to worry about.

He curses, how could he have forgotten? Even without the tittering of the girls from high school and university, Bokuto has been absolutely relentless in his excitement the past few days. Maybe he really needs to start paying attention to his ramblings.

Why is he nervous anyway? He’s not _obligated_ to get a gift — in fact, if he's being technical about it, guys aren't even expected to until a month later on White Day. Why should he feel guilty about forgetting about Valentine’s Day? He doesn’t need stupid cards and chocolates to validate his relationship.

But. Well.

He opens the door to the locker room and Atsumu's grinning face is the first thing he sees. He's practically glowing.

He’s got a wide grin on his face, a healthy flush across lightly tanned skin, and he’s looking straight at him with the brightest eyes, and Kiyoomi feels his heart catch on his throat. His dry fit shirt feels too tight across his chest, and he’s thankful he’s got a mask on because he knows his mouth is ajar.

The moment’s broken abruptly when Inunaki shoulder checks Atsumu who stumbles off the bench. “Oh, fuck off, why don’t you?”

Kiyoomi recovers a bit of himself without the eye contact, and he grits his teeth. Who the fuck does this dirtbag think he is, looking like that on a _Sunday_ of all days? It’s so inconsiderate to be triggering pseudo heart attacks when they’ve got a game to play in a couple of hours, home court notwithstanding.

“S’not a good look on ya, yer skin’s dry enough without the added salt, Wan-san,” Atsumu crows, laughing as he picks himself up from the ground.

“You’re only ahead of Meian by a couple of letters, and he’s _married_ ,” Barnes pipes in, rolling his eyes. “Bokuto and Sakusa are hot on your heels too. Don’t you think it’s too soon to be celebrating?”

At the sound of his name, Bokuto perks up. “I am? By how much? Do I get to count the letters from Keiji too?”

“What. _Letters_? Like, as in, multiple?” Atsumu asks, dumbfounded.

“Yes! This year, we wrote one for every day leading up to the Big Day on February since we have a game scheduled today and can't spend it together,” Bokuto explains, getting that faraway look in his eyes whenever he thinks about his husband.

_Gross_ , Kiyoomi thinks.

“Gross,” Atsumu says for him, and Kiyoomi thinks he’s going to be sick. It’s acid reflux, that’s all. Just because capitalism arbitrarily decided this was a day for couples to be gross doesn’t give his heart the right to be disgustingly sappy about how in sync they are.

“And no, it’s cheating if we count the ones from people we know. Shouyo’s such a kiss up, I’m sure he’s gonna get tons of obligatory chocolates. Plus, I’d count all the post-it notes Omi-omi leaves me as love letters too and be leagues ahead of everyone.”

To be clear, the post-it notes are _reminders_ , like telling him when they bought the leftover takeout so they know which one to eat first, or reminding Atsumu which coffee pod requires which setting, and he says as much.

“Yeah, but that just shows how ya care, Omi-omi. Comin’ from ya, they’re practically love letters!” Atsumu says, approaching him and nudging his side with is elbow. He’s beaming again, and Kiyoomi fights the urge to punch his stupid white teeth in.

Instead, he grumbles, “What’s this about anyway?”

“Every year, these idiots fight over who gets the most fan mail on Valentines. Winner gets to veto one restaurant for team celebrations,” Barnes explains.

Hinata whines, “Hey! I didn’t know about this! I could’ve totally done a little more during press interviews if I’d known!”

“It’s a dumb competition Atsumu started on his own. We only indulge this to stop his whining,” Inunaki says. “Who knows, maybe now that we have Sakusa, he’ll win and end this whole circus.” Inunaki turns to him and adds, “If you scowled less in interviews, you could beat Atsumu easy.”

Privately, Kiyoomi doubts it. The image of Atsumu smiling at him is fresh in his mind, and he doesn’t blame anyone for falling for his charms. It almost eclipses his loud mouth and shitty personality. _Almost_. Kiyoomi finds comfort in the fact that he’s not _that_ far gone to overlook that.

Atsumu sits on the bench behind him and puts a casual hand on his calf, squeezing. Kiyoomi feels the grip all the way up to his ribs. “I’m not gonna dispute that, but it won’t change the fact that we’re not eating at Menya Joroku this year.”

“You have _no taste_. No taste, whatsoever. Uncultured. How are you and Osamu related?” Inunaki exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air as he leaves for the gym.

Kiyoomi knows Atsumu doesn’t really hate Menya Joroku. They’ve eaten there together once or twice before, and Atsumu always leaves full and sated. He just does it to pick on Inunaki for who knows what slight from who knows how long ago. Atsumu’s probably forgotten already. He’s a petty bitch like that sometimes. Most of the time.

It’s not like Kiyoomi’s any better. Atsumu’s still banned from using the iron after he left it sitting on one of his dress shirts while turned on. He’s not allowed to bake or handle flour either because Kiyoomi found out he'd been compressing the flour down when he measures instead of scooping it loose. He’s also not allowed to log into Kiyoomi’s public social media accounts on his own phone because he _forgets to switch out_ before liking questionable things like fanart and posts about some skateboarding anime — Kiyoomi isn’t obsessed with curating his feed, but he’s got a reputation for _taste_ to maintain, thank you very much.

The point is, they’re both pretty petty. It's just one of the many ways they're compati — _nope._ He’s not going down this line of thought. He refuses.

Everyone else has trickled out of the room by the time Kiyoomi finishes his routine. Atsumu sometimes helps him set out all the cleaning materials he needs after practice, and Kiyoomi appreciates it, but he likes going through the actual motions himself. Rituals are calming especially when he feels as keyed up as he does. 

Before they leave the locker room, Atsumu puts a hand on his arm and squeezes. “He’s right, y’know.”

“About?” he asks, glancing sideways.

“You’d win easy if you smiled even once in interviews,” Atsumu replies softly. His mouth quirks up in a small smile. “But I’m glad you don’t, because I like that those’re reserved for me. It makes it all the more rewarding when I do get one out of ya, since you make me work for it.”

Kiyoomi stops walking and turns to him fully. “Is that a complaint?”

Atsumu laughs, the small and quiet one he uses when it’s just the both of them. “Nah, I like working for it. Yer worth the effort, Omi-omi. Or, it’s not really effort at all since I like doing it.”

Kiyoomi nearly groans. Atsumu’s on a fucking roll and his heart is suffering for it. He might actually gag at this rate. He clenches his fist and stuffs it into his pockets to stop him from doing anything patently stupid.

Atsumu turns around and continues walking. “Kinda like volleyball, y’know? Except I get paid for it in amazing dickings instead of cash.”

It’s disgusting how his stomach’s still turning despite the filth coming out of his mouth. Kiyoomi’s so fucking in love with this asshole, it’s almost painful. _This_. This is what his dumb heart has chosen to fall in love with everyday. His 15 year old self would be judging him so hard right now, but that little shit also checked Atsumu out during training camp a year later, piss hair and pretentious pre-service ritual and all, so he’s really in no position to judge.

“Why are you like this?” Kiyoomi winces, regretting the choice he makes every day and the choice he knows he’ll continue to make.

Atsumu only laughs in response before jogging past the double doors of the gym.

Kiyoomi tries to shake off the strange mood he’s in while he stretches, but it’s difficult when he keeps catching sight of Atsumu from across the floor. That’s an old, almost ragged white shirt he’s got on, but it clings to his muscles when he does his reps. Kiyoomi’s not sure if he’s imagining it, or if it really is almost see through? He can definitely see the outline of his figure from here, what the fuck.

White shirts should be banned from practice. They’re professional athletes for fuck’s sake, they’re expected to sweat. He should write a strongly worded letter to Admin about clothing policies. White shirts should _not_ be allowed.

He flubs three different services because he's distracted by Atsumu's flexed forearms, his thights, and his damn _clavicles_ before coach finally ends his misery and calls for a break. By then, Atsumu's taken to scowling at him, grumbling about how he's playing like a scrub, but it just makes Kiyoomi want to pinch his scrunched out nose and poke at his puffed cheeks.

Atsumu could probably tell too from the silent treatment that follows. Kiyoomi brushes it off because he knows he won't last the day without running his mouth, but the silence and the silent treatment he gives him lets Kiyoomi get a little out of his head, enough to gather the focus he needs to beat the Nagano Tridents later that evening.

Atsumu seems to forgive him too, if the way he turns to him and explodes in excitement after a particularly hard spike is any indication. Or the way he hip checks him during their debrief. Or the way he casually drags his hand on his nape when he passes by after they shower.

But all the renewed touches do is put him _back_ in his weird mood by the time they get home, and Atsumu finally calls him out on it.

While Kiyoomi goes through his evening facial regimen, Atsumu appears by the bathroom door and asks, “What’s up with you today?”

“Nothing,” he replies, putting a facemask on. “Sorry, if you were expecting anything today,” he adds, more softly.

Atsumu hums and approaches him, running his fingers through his hair. Kiyoomi leans in to it, and says, “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Gross,” Atsumu says, but he’s got a small smile on his face and his eyes have gone soft. “We’re not really the chocolate giving type, are we? That’s more of a Bokkun-type thing, and last I checked, I was datin’ someone hotter.”

He nudges Kiyoomi aside so he can wash his hands — twenty seconds, between his fingers, on the back of his hands, and his thumbs, and then pat dry on the towel. Only then does he turn to Kiyoomi and starts massaging the air bubbles out of his facemask.

He steps back to inspect his work. Satisfied, he quickly leans in and steals a kiss but makes a face when he tastes the serums.

Kiyoomi trails the back of his fingers on Atsumu’s jaw before cupping the back of his neck, nails scratching through his dark undercut. He delights in the way Atsumu’s eyes visibly dilate, and says with the most deadpan look he can muster, “Please, kill me before we _ever_ get like Bokuto and Akaashi.”

Atsumu snorts, and it’s such an ugly sound but god help Kiyoomi, he likes that bit about him too.

Later, when they’re settling in bed, Atsumu hands him something from underneath his side of the bed before burying his red face against the crook of Kiyoomi’s neck. “Here. Happy Valentine’s Day. We won’t ever talk about this, okay? I’ll deny it if you tell anyone.”

"People will believe me more than you," he replies. It’s a little difficult to unwrap the box with one arm around Atsumu, but he’s not really keen on changing that at the moment with how comfortable he is. He tries to lift the tape carefully — Atsumu groans, lips brushing against his skin, “Please, do it quick. Put me out of my misery. Just tear it, damnit.”

Inside is a box of loose leaf tisane and cocoa. “This’ll hopefully last longer than a bar of chocolate, but who can tell with how much tea you consume, weirdo.” He mumbles something about why Kiyoomi couldn’t drink coffee like a normal person, but Kiyoomi can’t hear it over the thudding of his heart.

Kiyoomi carefully places the jar of tea on top of his night stand and not in the drawer where he stores the gift he's been holding for months now when they're at home. For all that he's brash and rude, Atsumu is respectful about boundaries to a fault. It makes it so easy for Kiyoomi to hide things when he needs to because even after moving in together, Atsumu's never going to rifle through his stuff without asking.

He turns to fully face the man, cradles his head and kisses him, hard and chaste. They slowly part, but only far enough so Kiyoomi can mutter against his lips, “Disgusting.”

The morning after, he wakes up to kisses on his eyelids and Atsumu murmuring a soft “Good morning.”

Kiyoomi grumbles, but sits up anyway, tilting his head to the left. Predictably, Atsumu kisses him twice on the forehead right where his moles are. He hands him his favourite travel mug, and he realises it’s the new tea inside when he breathes in the steam.

“Here, I let you sleep in a bit already, so I made your morning tea, plain the way I think you’ll like it.”

He does like it. Atsumu put less milk and honey in like he normally does in his morning black tea to account for the lighter flavour profile of the tisane and cocoa. There's no reason for Atsumu to know how he likes a tea he's never had before, but here it is in his hands.

_Sonofabitch_. It’s too early for this. His brain isn’t equipped to cope, and he’s really close to doing something spectacularly stupid like throwing a little box to his head, plans and romance be damned. What is he supposed to do when recently Atsumu makes every small moment feel like _the right time_? 

With great restraint, all he does instead is groan.

“If you don’t like it, leave it and get ready, I’ll make you a new one you can drink on the way,” Atsumu huffs.

He curses the Osaka Women and Children’s Hospital. He knows how that sounds, but he does it in his head, where no one can judge. Well, actually, maybe he should just curse Hinata instead.

Their health coaches and the Marketing team have banded together to confiscate all the commercially made chocolates from yesterday for donation to the hospital’s paediatric ward. It was supposed to end there, but Hinata had gone around and dropped his puppy dog eyes to everyone on the team to have them volunteer to distribute the chocolates themselves on their day off.

Well, for Atsumu, it wasn’t so much voluntary as it was _guilt tripped,_ because he’s somehow able to be a jerkwad to everyone except Hinata. Naturally, he drags Kiyoomi down with him.

Now, typically, Kiyoomi would have no problem rejecting him outright, but he’s been a little more sensitive and averse to rejections these days for reasons he's not ready to voice aloud yet. He's simultaneously manifesting and trying to accumulate some good karma, which leads him to him to his current predicament.

Despite yesterday’s stressful almost-fiasco, and today’s continued high risk of it, Kiyoomi now finds himself in the Osaka Women and Children’s Hospital’s playroom, wearing a bunny-ear headband and two layers of facemasks, distributing candy to the long-term residents.

Bokuto’s got a Paw Patrol onesie — they brought their own costumes, and for the sake of their continued synergy on the court, Kiyoomi tries not to think too hard about why Bokuto had that on hand — and he’s reading some story books with Meian to some kids on one side.

Next to him, Hinata and Tomas are doing a weird puppet show for some of the younger kids. He’s pretty sure Hinata’s doing the voices for Tomas’s puppet as well.

Inunaki and Atsumu are teaching some of the older kids how to handle a volleyball — this is an accident waiting to happen, which is probably why Mika-san is hovering nearby.

Kiyoomi’s sat on a table with Meian’s wife, engaging the quieter bunch in activity books and casual conversation. He’s deep in a discussion with six year old Daiki about how his best friend Tetsu is really good at hide and seek, but that he’s better at it still.

“Tetsu can hide real well, but I’m the only one who can find him at hide and seek.” Then, with all the precociousness and self-confidence a five year old can muster when all their worries end at naptime, he says, “That’s kinda like love, you know?”

“What do you mean?” Kiyoomi asks, confused by the sudden turn of the conversation.

“Love will find you even if you’re trying to hide from it,” Daiki explains, dead serious. “It’s a foot tile.”

Stunned, Kiyoomi mindlessly corrects, “Futile.”

“Yeah, that. I’ve been trying to hide from it ever since I was five, but the girls keep finding me anyway," he says nonchalantly. "But if I’m in hiding and they find me, I lose, so I might as well be seeker, so I win.”

Kiyoomi’s completely lost. The conversation took a couple of unexpected turns, bypassed what-the-hell ward, and now he’s got no clue where he is anymore. What are they feeding the kids here? 

“Omi!” He’s drawn from his stupor by Atsumu’s voice. He turns towards it, only for his cheek to meet the finger waiting for him.

Atsumu breaks out in full hyena laugh, encouraged by a blond kid also cackling in his arms. It’s _such_ a childish prank, there’s really no reason for him to be laughing this hard. There are tears forming in his eyes, and Kiyoomi is struck with physical evidence that his boyfriend has the humour of an actual child.

He watches Atsumu lift the kid higher up on his hip. Kiyoomi can't look away. There's just no possible way he can tear his eyes away from Atsumu, arms flexing to carry his little smug lookalike. Atsumu raises a high five that the kid matches, and they share matching grins, looking back at Kiyoomi, and —

Unfair.

This is just unfair.

What’s he supposed to do when Atsumu looks like _this_ except —

Except to angrily demand, “Shut the fuck up and marry me already.”

A beat.

Two.

Three.

His heart's picking up speed.

Atsumu's stunned, eyes wide open and mouth ajar. He says nothing.

In fact, no one says anything at all. Dead silence follows his outburst, and Kiyoomi can only hear the drumming of his heart. It’s so loud, and he runs his mouth trying to drown out the sound.

“You’re annoying, an absolute little shit, and it’s so upsetting how _stupid_ I am for you. I’m going insane. I thought I couldn’t love you any more yesterday, but clearly not, because I feel so _sick_ with it right now. I was waiting, for a better moment, for someplace quieter, for something better to say, but god _damn_ it, you make it so hard. It’s like you have a radar for things you absolutely have to upturn. My life’s definitely one of them. This proposal, another."

From the corner of his eye he sees Meian's wife cover the ears of the child next to her, and he thinks he can see the tight grip Mika-san has on her clipboard promising hell to pay later. He was waiting for the _rght time_ , and a playroom surrounded by impressionable kids for a charity event definitely isn't it. But the dam already broke, so he lets all the words he bottled up inside for months finally flow.

“Who knew I was capable of feeling all of this? I certainly wasn’t, and I don’t think I’ve very well equipped to do it either because it’s spilling over right now. But if I’m going to fall in love with someone, I want to keep falling in love with you. Because you remember to carry an alcohol spray with you even when you forget your own keys, because you say the stupidest things but it still makes me laugh, because you can tell how I like my tea even when I’ve never had it before. 

“Because you learned me like you learned volleyball, and I don’t know how I’m supposed to do anything _but_ fall in love with you. I chose you when I was sixteen, not knowing any better. I choose you now at twenty-five, knowing better and I _know_ I’ll choose you every day from now.

“If I’m going to be this deep in love with someone, I want to be in love with you and fucking _win_ your stupid golden ass. So…” Kiyoomi’s voice breaks, but he’s already spilled his guts so he’s going to see this through. He grabs the box he’s been carrying in his pocket and lifts it up. “So, marry —”

“Stop!” Atsumu screams.

He uses his free hand to cover Kiyoomi's mouth shut, looking manic. He bends down to set the kid he was carrying down and doesn’t get up.

“Oh my god, yer killin’ me here, Omi-omi. I- oh my god,” he says, burying his face in his hands. Abruptly, he takes an alcohol spray from his pocket, hands it to Kiyoomi and... what.

“What,” he says, aloud.

“I’ve been carryin’ a ring in there for god knows how long, I’ve jus’ been buildin’ up the guts to do it, but what the fuck, I can’t say anything after that. What the fuck. Except, no. _You’re_ marrying _me_ , y’hear me? I fell in love with you _first_ an’ I wanted to marry you first — no, don’t argue with me, you can ask ‘Samu how long I’ve been throwing him photos of rings, it’s fuckin’ embarrassing.” Atsumu’s face is beet red as he opens the cap and tips the spray bottle over, and there, submerged in ethanol is a simple golden band.

“So Kiyoomi, _you’re_ marrying _me,_ okay? Don’t take this win from me, oh my god.”

Kiyoomi feels his face heat, and the churning in his chest is back, even stronger now, choking him. He doesn't know what to say, and they look at each other in incredulousness for a beat, or two, or three.

“I’m pretty sure someone’s gotta kiss someone now,” Daiki groans, exasperated.

It makes Atsumu throw his head back and laugh, and fuck, he’s gorgeous. It brings Kiyoomi to his knees, and he takes Atsumu’s face in his hands and brings their foreheads together. “You were supposed to kill me before we ever got to Bokuto's level, and I’m pretty sure we went way past that already.”

Atsumu giggles, and he looks down at his mouth. “Can I take off the mask, Omi-omi?”

Kiyoomi huffs, pulls both masks and all his reservations and walls down, and kisses him.

**Author's Note:**

> Later, Bokuto asks them what a Bokuto level means, and Inunaki says, cackling, "Don't worry, Bokuto level is leagues beneath Sakuatsu level." 
> 
> Hinata looks up at them in awe. "That's the most I've _ever_ heard you speak, Omi-san!"
> 
> Kiyoomi and Atsumu sit on tiny toddler chairs, heads buried in their hands. 
> 
> "There's no recovering from this," Kiyoomi says. "I hate you." 
> 
> "Fortunately for you, MSBY can recover from the fiasco your foul mouths unleashed on _children_!" Mika-san snaps. 
> 
> \----
> 
> There really was a game on Sunday between the Sakai Blazers (an Osaka team!) and the Nagano Tridents and the Sakai Blazers won 3-0 iirc. The hospital and the restaurant are also real places in Osaka, but I've never been there so I can't attest to the building plan nor the food. Finally, the tea is T2's Crazy Good Cocoa and it's helped me crunch through grad school.


End file.
